"I feel like I'm burning up!" Hermione cried out, from under the arm she'd slung around her eyes.
Her breathing was heavy, her fever and her pulse frighteningly high.
Mrs Granger pressed the glass of ice water she'd brought into her daughter's hands, hoping it might alleviate some of her discomfort while the doctor made his way over to their residence.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Her father said, fretting on the other side of the bed, "Go over it again, how are you feeling?"
"So hot it's like I might die," Hermione said, not knowing the stomach-dropping effect her choice of words had on her parents.
"It's like I'm in some kind of forest fire, only the fire is in me." She continued, "My head hurts so badly, it hurts to keep my eyes open. Please, tell me the doctor will be here soon."
"The doctor will be here soon," Emma Granger replied immediately, "And I mean that, honey, he's on his way right now, I just spoke to him on the phone, he was in the car already."
They all three heard a knocking at the door.
Dan Granger jumped up, "That must be him, I'll get it,"
He half-sprinted down the stairs, in a state of almost delirious worry for his daughter. They'd thought it just a fever at first. Have her rest a little, she'd be over it fast, but it just kept getting worse. And even worse than that, he had no real way of knowing if it wasn't magic in origin. She'd been going to that school for three years now, he was well aware of that side of the world and even more aware how little of it he was truly aware of. And Hermione, much more delirious than he was, couldn't help him.
He threw open the door, out of breath from his half-run. "She's -"
Dan was startled, the person at the door wasn't the doctor he knew so well from going to the man's practise all as Hermione grew up. This was a woman with long, silvery blond hair.
"Where?" She asked. From one word alone, he could detect some kind of accent. Her clothes... more modern than Hogwarts, but still had that wizard flair. He didn't really have time to think.
"You... magic?" He huffed out.
She nodded up and down rapidly, her face very determined.
"Upstairs," He said, pointing.
The woman pushed past him wordlessly and ran her own way up the stairs, heading into the first open door she saw in the upstairs hallway.
Emma didn't have a chance to react to the unexpected face before the woman pulled out a slender, pale wood wand and started casting, speaking words Emma didn't knew. Hermione calmed immediately, even pulled her arm away from her face and opened her eyes to look around.
"Thank god," She said.
Spying the woman, still holding her wand, she revised, "Thank you."
The woman seemed to let out a breath of her own. "Of course."
"Thank you, thank you so much for helping my daughter," Emma said, "But who are you?"
The woman shook her head, her striking hair swaying side to side gracefully as she did so, "You don't know me and, honestly, I don't know you either. My name is Lacy Dumont. From your home... I would guess you are muggles."
Emma and Hermione both noticed the accent, just as Dan had, and heard enough words to recognize it as French.
"Yes, I'm a muggleborn witch, Hermione Granger." Hermione said, "If you don't know us, how did you know..."
"I'm a Veela, Ms. Granger. Full-bloodied. We can sense these things."
"What things?" Hermione asked, seeing her father appearing at the door and observing his relieved expression at having made the right choice letting the strange woman into their home.
The woman, Ms. Dumont, let out a sigh, "I was worried you might not know. That happens far too often these days... I suppose it can't be helped. Let's all sit down somewhere proper, I'll explain everything."
After a quick-freshening up spell Hermione cast on herself and her clothes to cover up the sweat from her fever, they were all left sitting comfortably enough in the living room downstairs.
"Mrs. and Ms. Granger..." Ms. Dumont said, biting her lip slightly, "Perhaps it would be better if..."
She eyed Dan Granger, her eyes darting slightly.
Hermione got the message, though didn't understand why it was necessary for her father to leave the room.
"I'm sorry, Dad, could you step out for a minute? I think this might be a girl thing."
"Oh, um, right. Okay." Dan said, nodding and stepping out into the back garden. He still needed to catch his breath anyway.
"My apologies." Ms Dumont said, "This can be a rather sensitive topic for many people."
She cleared her throat. Hermione and Emma looked at each other, both wondering what it all was about.
"Ms. Granger... Hermione, may I call you?" Hermione nodded.
"Hermione, I am able to feel in my very veins that you are a Veela of at least half-blood."
"What?" Hermione asked, shocked. She knew a little about Veela... precious little.
"I am certain of it," Ms. Dumont went on, "It's sensitive because... Mrs. Granger." The Veela redirected her attention, "I am guessing you must know already. Such a strongly present trait can't be passed by a non-magical. You... Hermione's father, that is..."
Mrs. Granger had a very pale look. Her voice shook a little, but she didn't hesitate, "Yes, I believe I understand."
"Understand what?" Hermione asked, her face whipping back and forth from her mother to Ms. Dumont, "Please, explain."
Emma's voice was hoarse like she was the one sick, "An affair..."
"An affair?" Hermione asked, still not understanding.
Emma cleared her throat and seemed to get her strength back a little. "I... well, I had an affair, Hermione. Many years ago now. A foolish mistake. I never did tell your father, I've kept it to myself all these years. Mainly because... well, you look more like that mistake I made then you ever did your father. And with your father, well, more children never came."
It clicked in Hermione's head quickly and she nodded, blushing.
"I still love your father, darling – still love you -"
"I know," Hermione responded, "It's all right, Mum. So what this means is... a Veela is my father? That's why I'm part Veela? And that has something to do with you sensing me or sensing my sickness."
"Not exactly a Veela, but a man with full Veela blood, yes. Only females can be true Veela, but males can carry the bloodline."
Hermione nodded, taking it all in stride. There wasn't any need to rush anymore, she was feeling fine now after Ms. Dumont's spells, but the atmosphere was still very much a tense one. Ms. Dumont even looked more uncomfortable than Mrs. Granger did.
"What that means for you, Hermione," She went on, "Is that you have been blessed to become a full Veela yourself."
'Blessed', huh? So at least she knew this was a good thing, then.
"But you said earlier, I'm half Veela, right?"
"Half-blooded, yes. Full Veela."
"Full Veela..." Hermione knitted her eyebrows. She'd have to do more research on this, definitely. For now, though...
"So, the illness?" She asked.
"All young Veela go through it at about your age. It's only in the modern century we've made spells to lessen the pain. It's a distinctly unpleasant thing, yes, but only lasts a few days. The last of it being the worst of it, and from your state, I would guess you were very near the end already.
"It's somewhat of a transformation, to your core. We refer to it as your core being purified in fire. If I felt your forehead, you'd still be burning up – all I can do away with is the discomfort."
"Thank you, for that," Hermione said.
"Of course." Ms. Dumont said, as she had before, "Well, there are more things I need to make you aware of, Hermione."
"Please, go on, Ms. Dumont." Hermione said, nodding.
"Lacy," She said, nodding back, then continuing, "Whether full or part-blooded, if true Veela, you experience three such transformations. Rest assured, the other two you've yet to face are not so nightmarish. To your core, first of all, your magic. What you're going through right now. Then your looks – not a severe change, you won't be unrecognisable, but you will look noticeably different. There's no hiding it, really, once it's complete."
"The third?" Hermione asked, when Lacy paused.
"That will be your first transformation into your other form. Not painful, usually, but..."
"Forgive me," Hermione said, "I know next to nothing about this. I haven't researched Veela – they're not nearly so common in England as they are in France, so, it was never too necessary. Another form?"
"Don't worry about that," Lacy said, smiling, "I wouldn't expect you to know. Veela are shape-shifting beings – we have two forms. What you would call the normal one, the one you spend your days in, and the form you take in anger. Similar, I believe, to Harpies – no, sirens in muggle lore – not the same, of course, not nearly..."
"Could you show us?" Emma asked, just as curious as her daughter what was happening to Hermione.
"Yes, I'm experienced in it." Lacy said, "Though... the curtains."
"I'll get them," Emma said, standing to do so at once.
When their privacy was secured, Lacy stood and began to remove her clothes.
"So as not to tear them," She said automatically to the slightly bewildered faces of the two other women in the room.
Hermione knew she should be focusing on other things, but was a little mystified by the Veela woman's body. There was some sort of strange smoothness to her, more than just her skin, like that was her being. She was flawless, beyond that, Hermione noticed her face as well, blushing at her own audacious when their eyes met.
Lacy laughed at her, seeming utterly comfortable without her clothes, "You'll be just as beautiful soon, Hermione."
Hermione blushed an even deeper crimson.
Lacy clasped her hands in front of her, and stared downwardly, almost as if she was praying to some strange god, then suddenly, flicked her head upwards and quietly cried out.
Feathers sprouted along her arms, down the sides of her body, and partway down her thigh, an utterly strange look, the mixture of pale skin and feathers. What happened next made Hermione gasp a little despite herself.
Huge wings sprang from Lacy's back, spreading themselves widely across the room. They were thick, looked strong and tense with muscle, a little scaly, a little feathery. She would have been angelic in that moment, beautiful, but then Hermione's gaze swept to her face. A beak sprouted where her nose should be – nothing, in itself. Her eyes, her eyes were where the true horror lay, huge red pits that pulsed like fire. It was a fearsome, frightening gaze – then it withered, the wings sucked into her back like serpents, the feathers receding as it rewound.
"In that form, you can throw fireballs from your fingertips," Lacy said, laughing again, "But I would not want to ruin your carpet or set fire to the curtains."
Emma was certainly in awe and Hermione was very curious. "Can you fly?" She asked, a little mystified.
Lacy stopped dressing and tipped her head from side to side. Surely not a difficult question, but she considered it carefully not-the-less.
"Not... really," Became her eventual answer, "Glide a little, maybe. They're magic, the wings, so well-balance beyond what physics should allow. Strong, too. Still, flying properly isn't something easy. The older women in my family, the ones still studying the Veela ways, even they tend to have trouble with that. It's not the primary function of that form, in any case... your feathers are strong things, wicked strong, just like your hair. They protect you from magic and fire – with the wings, you can angle that protection rather well."
"It sounds incredible." Hermione said, awed.
Lacy had a smile of great joy, "It is, Hermione. There is no being under the sun I'd rather be. Our rich history, our rich culture – you can come to learn these things in time, be a part of them. You attend Hogwarts, correct? Only school in Britain, I believe, so you must. You should consider Beauxbatons in France, Hermione. These English wizards..."
Lacy, fully dressed again, plopped back onto the couch, "That, well, that would be the only bad part, I suppose, about being a Veela. Nothing about it itself – about people and the way they react to it. It's bad, here in England. A little bit bad everywhere, you can't help that, but in England? People are terrible, Hermione. Though, you being muggleborn, I suppose you must have experienced prejudice already."
Hermione nodded, suddenly solemn, "Yes, for myself, and for non-humans. There's a tribe of centaurs that live in the forest near my school. I know that they've been frustrated for years, trying to be taken as seriously as they deserve to be by the wizards. Half-breeds, that's what people call them. Will they... call me that, too?"
Lacy seemed like she didn't want to confirm that. She wanted Hermione to be proud to be a Veela and didn't want to associate her with negative things right off the bat. Still, she had no choice but to sheepishly nod.
Hermione, strangely, did not look distressed. "Well, I could care less, you know." She said, crossing her arms, "They've called me mud blood for years, now, haven't they? I'm the best in my year and they ridicule me anyway. When I was younger – only over two years, I suppose, but it feels much younger – that used to upset me more than it does now."
"You're a mature girl, Hermione." Lacy said, looking proud, despite how they'd only just met.
"Oh!" Lacy suddenly cried out, "I need to go now! Oh, yes, I'd lost track of time – couldn't just leave a fellow Veela suffering, when I felt your transformation nearby I had to... I'm here in England for a conference, a very important one. Oh, thank goodness, there's still time, but I need to leave now. Hermione, don't fear, I won't leave you in the dust, I promise. I'll come visit again, or have one of my friends visit, or send letters. I have to go now. Oh, give my regards to Mr. Granger, I'm so sorry!"
Lacy rushed out of the house like a bat out of hell. Hermione noticed immediately she'd left a feather behind on the floor. Did Veela moult? My, was there an awful lot to learn and she was still exhausted from that fever.
"Mum," Hermione started.
"Yes, dear, go ahead," Mrs. Granger said, "I... need to have a talk with your father."
"Right," Hermione said. That would be an awkward situation, maybe even painful. She hoped they wouldn't fight. Still, her parents loved each other greatly, she knew. Surely, they would work it out.
Both were startled by another knock at the door.
"Oh, dear!" Mrs. Granger said, "That must be the doctor. Oh, we can't have anyone think he came for nothing, they'll be suspicious surely. You still have a fever, don't you?"
Hermione nodded.
"Pretend to feel badly, dear – but not too badly, we want him to say 'you have a fever, take some rest and this medicine' and go away."
For the next twenty minutes, Hermione was poked and prodded.
The doctor, for his part, certainly was thorough and a respectable man that the three in the house felt a little bad about fooling.
He said mostly what Emma had assumed he would. Overreaction from the parents, just a fever, probably nothing, take this medicine, call me in the morning with an update.
He packed his things back away and left.
"Thank goodness," Hermione said, letting out a sigh. She didn't find herself to be a good actress, the high temperature must have been the only thing to convince him.
"Well, now that that's settled, you two can fill me in on what's going on." He said, looking back and forth between his daughter and his wife.
"Actually," Said Emma, "I think it would be better if I did that. Alone with you. Hermione, why don't you go rest? I'd say actually take that medicine too, it might do your fever well."
Hermione nodded and scampered, not wanted to be in the room.
In her bed upstairs, she listened for yelling, but heard none. Relieved, she was able to fall asleep.
The atmosphere in the house the next morning was more melancholic than tense. Dan seemed strangely sad and Emma remorseful. They were close as a couple, very close, so something like that news would have shaken them, Dan especially. Hermione gave them their space and took her breakfast to her room, where it sat untouched until she had finished writing her letter to Harry. She'd wanted to write one to Ron, too... but something strange stopped her. More towards the end of last year, her feelings about him had gotten awkward. Ron was, after all, an attractive boy. The way he got on her nerves, but stayed her friend all the same. She couldn't imagine a future with him, really, or any other boy... but he certainly was pretty, wasn't he?
Handsome, handsome, she shook her head. You don't call boys pretty, boys like Ron anyway. Handsome, even? Rugged, she supposed. Sort of... she couldn't put it into words in her mind and was only making herself blush.
She forced herself to stop thinking about that and reviewed her letter to Harry.
Quick pleasantries, 'how's the start of your summer been'. She slipped into the news pretty quickly, explaining thoroughly what she knew and asking for advice. She also asked him, in very clear words, not to tell anyone else about it, if he would, please. She signed it 'love Hermione' – oops. Well, whatever, she didn't feel like re-writing it and Harry wouldn't care about that. She knew he couldn't feel that way about her or think she did about him. She sealed it and sent it off by owl for hire, not trusting the Dursleys to not screen his muggle mail.
Once she was done, a sense of calm washed over her. Why was she ever feeling so frantic? If Lacy was to be believed, this was very good news.